Tempest
by Luna Maria Boulevardes
Summary: Tony looked at me with sad eyes and set his bags down. "Oh Ziva," he whispered. "What have you done?" Tiva. Eating disorders.
1. Prologue: Staying Bones

_Tempest _

_By L. M. Boulevardes_

* * *

_Prologue: Staying Bones_

* * *

_Mollia non __rigidus __caespes __tegat __ossa__ nec illi,_

_terra, gravis fueris: non fuit illa tibi_

* * *

_Would that the hard turf not weigh on her soft bones; _

_O Earth, do not be heavy on her: she was not heavy on you._

_- From Martial 5.34, translated from the Latin by L. M. Boulevardes_

* * *

I _was_ sorry.

That had to count for something, did it not? I was sorry for the pain I had caused, sorry for the look in Tony's eyes when he held my bony hand with careless tenderness, repulsed by my bones and afraid of breaking me.

I was sorry. I had not meant to let it get this out of control, for it to become something so bad. I kept telling myself that I would do it – but then I would not. It got put off, and besides that my stomach was upset all the time and it just kind of happened without my notice. And now I was here, fighting to live even though I was worn to my bones and wanted to sleep.

"You're going to be okay, Ziva," Tony said, I think more for himself than for me. I nodded and glanced at the array of IVs, the calories dripping into my arm and floating into my bloodstream. I did not struggle, did not rip it out as once I might have when all I wanted to do was scream and to be noticed. When nights were so very long and full of nightmares and sobbing and my ears sometimes bled and I wore my perfume very strong because I could always smell blood and ashes. That was different, then. I was angry; I was younger. Now I was just tired and sad.

"I want to go home," I said quietly, watching him absentmindedly rub circles on my hand. I couldn't feel it very well. Unsurprisingly. I was numb all over, cocooned. Except now there were little broken bits where grasping hands reached through to grab me, pull at me. I had stop resisting now, too broken to attempt flight. Let them carry me across the lake; I no longer cared.

"Soon, Zee. I'll take you out for lunch tomorrow, how does that sound? I know a good Israeli place in Bethesda. Good falafel," he rambled, grasping at the air for words to stuff the silence with, maybe push out the grey elephant in the process. I nodded. So tired. "But you've got to eat everything I put in front of you, okay? Otherwise you have to pay. I'll pay for everything you eat though, I promise. The hospital was really a dumb idea. I mean, how are you supposed to gain weight on this crap? I'll bring you something good, something worth eating. Make you want to eat." There was an electricity in his eyes, a desperation. I believed him. Of course I believed him.

"It is okay, Tony. I do want to eat," I replied, wishing I could get the words to make him understand. I wished he could speak as many languages as I did so I could pull out one, two right ones of each language and squash them together to make them fit to the thoughts in my head. "I did not mean to . . ." English was failing me again, stupid cold hard blocky, clunky words.

Frustration.

"Don't worry about it. I don't care," he said, waving a hand lackadaisically. "I just want to work on getting you healthy again. We'll do this." And then, after a pause, "Together."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted so much for it to be true, for it to right. I wanted to go to lunch with him and laugh with him and do what made him happy so I could feel the warmth that flooded me when I saw that bursting smile. I wanted now to reach up and kiss his lips, even though mine were dry and cracked and probably thoroughly unpleasant. I would do anything for Tony.

Assuming, of course, that I lived through the night.


	2. I: Glorianna

_I: Glorianna_

* * *

_I will be as good unto ye as ever a Queen was unto her people. No will in me can lack, neither do I trust shall there lack any power. And persuade yourselves that for the safety and quietness of you all I will not spare if need be to spend my blood._

_-  __Queen Elizabeth I to the Lord Mayor and people of London on the eve of her Coronation_

* * *

For the third time that month, I decided I would never have another tequila as long as I lived. Poison. Poison in a frothy, fruity, delicious form. It was not fair for it to taste so good. They ought to make it taste bad, as bad as it was making me feel right now. I moaned softly, resting my hot forehead against the cool toilet seat.

It was two on a Saturday morning, and I was regretting the bar, regretting the dancing and laughter and the oh, why not have _just one mores?_ It had been childish and stupid and now I was paying the price. I hated this. I had never been a party girl, never been the one dancing on the tables for her eighteenth birthday. I remembered nights with friends, remembering topless birthday parties and morning regrets and shrieks of _"Carpe Noctem!"_

Seize the night indeed.

My stomach lurched again and acid tasted bitter as regret. What was that Americanism, if you can't take the fire stay out of the fireplace? No, that wasn't quite it. Whatever. As though it mattered right now. Something like that was right. Tony could correct me on Monday. He seemed to take a special sort of joy in correcting my English, and who was I to deny him such a pleasure? If it did not require so much effort I might have laughed.

_Glug_. God, I _hated_ being sick. I hated the slimy feeling in the back of my throat, the stench of acid. Acid smelled like chemicals, smelled like death. Smelled like the formaldehyde they preserved corpses with. Disgusting. Unwanted. With shaking hands I flushed the toilet and forced myself up on weak feet to the sink.

I blew my nose and winced, then splashed some cold water on my face. It tasted bad but felt good. My throat was raw and I choked down a couple of antacids. They threatened to come back up but I stood still and waited, determined to keep it down. My skin was hot and uncomfortably clammy, sticky almost. I considered running the shower then decided against it. The week had been too long, too much for me to handle. I was tired. All I wanted to do now was sleep.

I fell into my bed, hoping that I _was _actually tired enough to sleep. God knew I needed the rest, but honestly it was so hard to sleep these days. Since Jenny had died, I was haunted by memories and guilt. I didn't feel quite safe yet, even with the team back. I felt like it was temporary, like it could be taken from me at any time.

It made me uncomfortable. Before, I think I thought that Gibbs was a god in his own right, capable of anything. I didn't think anything bad, anything like that horrible separation could ever happen to us. I never thought I might not get a chance to tell everything to Tony . . .

But then my head was spinning and I was in Israel and they were all making fun of my little "Americanisms" and asking me when I had gone and become a Jewish-American Princess, laughing and saying _Oh, Ziva got soft in the states! _But then they tested my reflexes and it was conclude that Ziva hadn't gotten soft in the states after all. Then it was different. Then, there were a few tables danced on. You grew up fast and then stopped, caught in a strange pseudo-adolescent phase. Music screeching and hurting.

Israel. My father. Three graves of my tears. Now a grave in America too. Two American graves. God, how much longer before there were no more graves? When would I finally be able to laugh because I wanted to laugh, not because I didn't want to cry again? Here I was becoming Tony, taking the bottle for the only sleep. It was not real sleep, it was passing out. Black and dark as velvet. I wanted to just sleep a pure, thoughtless sleep where no one died anymore. I sighed.

The night had stared off pleasantly enough. Some women from my synagogue had invited me to go barhopping with them, hoping to find love or at least a good fuck for that night. I agreed, not really caring either way. I wasn't that close to them, but neither were we so distant that I would dislike the company. Besides, I needed to get out more. Tony joked that I did not know how to have fun. I could have fun. I would prove it to him. And me. And everyone else.

I spent careful time preparing, doing my makeup and my hair and picking out _just the right _dress. Small and black, something that I was certain no one would think I would _own_, much less actually wear. I reluctantly put away my guns but couldn't help but to take a knife with me, held to my body with a tight strip of spandex around my waist under my dress.

Some habits are hard to break.

I put my cell phone and a twenty in my purse and flashed my best fake smile when the other women came to pick me up. They laughed and cooed over my hair and clothes, with not a few laughed shrieks of "Ziva's a girl!" Alright, so I was not the most feminine of women. _That_ was not a crime.

We got to the bar around eight. There was hint of excitement, anticipation stirring deep in me. I too, was laughing by now. I was happy for the night, happy to get out. Happy for the burning taste of vodka in my throat, for the men looking at me with hungry eyes. Sarah was laughing beside me, too loud and too drunk. Except I was too and what is more I did not care, so long as I was not in the penitentiary of my mind. There were too many thoughts there, all fighting for dominance and none of which I wished to recede control to. Too many bad things . . .

"They look at you!" she said, eyes shining. "God, they look at you like you're something to eat!" _Something to eat_. Prey and predator. But with a knife strapped to my back who was who?

"I suppose."

"Let's dance! Can we go dance, Zivala? Will you dance with me? Come, dance with me," she said, putting her drink down with near violent force and grabbing my hand to drag me onto the dance floor. I allowed it and went willingly.

The night, in colours and dreams and brightness. In my mind, my body floating weightless. Pure and invincible and perfect and formless, drifting over everything to have all that was good. Drunk, so very drunk. Letting some man hold my hips and press himself against me, and then kiss me feverishly. God, it felt _good_. Tasted sweet, like daydreams. I liked the moment, liked the music. I wanted to stay there. Cocooned, no more thoughts.

But then I was too drunk, and the high gave way to the low and I ended up puking in the restroom before going home to puke some more. And all the thoughts of everything were going back, and I was cursing silently and wishing I had held my liquor better and not been so foolhardy, trying to be something more. Maybe then I could have had someone, been able to screw until I could not think and collapsed down, sleeping. Then I would not need the alcohol, would not need to be numb.

Maybe I would feel again.

But I was here, with only my thoughts for company and no way to chase away my demons. I wished it would be Monday so I could go to work, be distracted. Tony made fun of me for getting in early, but I had to do it lately. I did not sleep and being all alone with my head was more than I could handle.

My head was a dark and frightening nightmare place, not good for anyone including myself. I needed to be around people, have the opportunity to breathe clean air. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and be someone else, a more perfect vapid thing. One of Tony's brainless bimbos. Something that did not have this thing inside them that hurt and pulsated and made them cry out and beg for the relief that was not coming. That innocent thing to make one whole.

In short, I needed to sleep.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing. Loud. Insistent. Not something I could quiet deal with right now. I grabbed it and smacked it against the wall, but it continued its piercing shriek. I angrily opened it and held it to my ear. Stupid, infuriating world . . .

"_Bonlom._" No, wait, not right. Not a language. Okay, think Ziva, which language do we answer this cell phone in? Not French. Not Spanish. Not Hebrew. Not Arabic – English? English! "I mean, hello?"

"Ziva? Are you hung over?" Tony. Why Tony? Tony would do nothing but ridicule and annoy me. I did not want to deal with Tony.

"Shut up." There, that seemed an appropriate answer. At least I was speaking English.

"Ooh, touchy." I could all but hear his smirk.

"What do you want, Tony?" I asked irratibly. I glanced at the clock. _Noon_. No excuse to yell at him for waking me, normal people were up by now. Dammit.

"What makes you think I _want _something, _Zee_-vah?" he asked, drawing out the syllables of my name. I sighed heavily.

"Because I know you, perhaps?" I replied. He made a strangled noise of protest and I held the phone from my ear. Did he realize how _loud _he was? Dear God.

"I need help." When in doubt, be pathetic. Tony was predictable. Under other circumstances, a welcome distraction.

"With what?"

"I have to buy a birthday present for my niece," he said. A pause. I frowned as the words slowly processed.

"And this is my responsibility because . . . ?"

"Because training a new partner would be very, very inconvenient for you?"

"Ha! Trained? You? Tony I am lucky that you even write _some _of your reports. Anyone else would be stuck constantly doing it alone! A new partner would be _useful_ to me," I replied. He seemed to consider this for a moment.

"Aw, come on, _please_! I don't know what seven year-old girls like!" he whined unhappily. I snorted.

"And you think I do?" I questioned. He sighed and I winced slightly, wishing I had better words for him.

"Well, I don't know. I mean, we all know you play with knives as a child but um, your sister!" he suddenly exclaimed with excitement. My eyes narrowed and I gripped the phone a little tighter. Tali was a sensitive topic.

"What about her?" I asked in a guarded tone. I sat up straight, fully awake and clear now.

"Well, I mean, we all know that _you _played with _knives_ as a child Ziva, but what did your sister play with?" he asked hurriedly. There was a slight relief that he was not saying anything offensive about my sister, and then the slight insult that he thought I had played with _knives_ as a child. Well, maybe it was a good thing.

"Dolls?" I suggested tentatively. God, that was a long time ago. How did Tony expect me to remember so far back? He probably could not.

"Dolls. Okay, dolls. What _kind_ of dolls?" Oh, this man was going to be the death of me, it was official. When Ducky sighed my death warrant it would have "Tony DiNozzo" written as cause of death. Although whether it was from hating him or loving him was yet to be seen.

"I will go with you. Where should I meet you?" I asked. A long day was coming. I would deal with it in stride. It might be nice to spend some time with Tony outside the office anyway.

"Don't bother, I'll pick you up. Thanks Ziva!" The line went dead and I closed the phone. I reluctantly forced myself from the bed and choked down some ibprofen for the headache I felt coming. Needed to get dressed, didn't know when he would be here. I showered in the dark, nearly falling asleep again. Showering is one of the few things I do not compromise on; if Tony came while I was in the shower, he would wait.

But he did not come so I dressed in hurriedly silence, slipping on comfortable jeans and a favourite top. The September sun was bright and the southern Washington air still tasted like lingering summer. Autumn would not claim her territory so easily, and admittedly I was grateful. I strongly preferred the heat to the cold, likely from having grown up in temperate Israel.

I was just putting on a headband as I heard Tony pull up outside my apartment, honking his horn. He would. Tony was like a small child; in constant need of attention. I grabbed my purse, sticking my cell phone in it. I was yet to eat breakfast but unconcerned. My stomach was still rather upset from the last night's escapades anyway.

"I cannot believe I am doing this," I groaned as I got into the passenger seat. Tony flashed me his signature grin.

"Thanks, Ziva. I'll find some way to pay you back," he promised. "You like chocolate?"

"Giving me a _stolen_ candy bar from the vending machine is not going to be payment."

"I wasn't going to do that!" he protested. I raised an eyebrow and gave him a look. "Okay, yes I was but that doesn't invalidate the gift, it's the thought that counts!"

"You do not think very much at all, do you?"

"I resent that!"

"It was your idea to bring me along, Tony. Are you regretting it now?" I taunted laughingly.

"How do you know I didn't just use this as an excuse to lure you out of the house so I can kidnap you and have my wicked way?" he cackled.

"Because you do not know how many weapons I have on me right now," I said cheerily. This finally seemed to get him.

"Well, how many _do _you have on you right now?" Then again, perhaps not. He glanced at me curiously.

"Two," I said definitively.

"Really." He did not believe me in the slightest.

"Yes." A pause. He was waiting, but I would not break down! I was strong. I could play this game too. "Alright, five if you count the backup gun, the backup knife and the papercilp." Dammit, how had he done that?

"Ugh. Paperclips." Okay, so I might have given my coworker a tiny little phobia of paperclips. I had not _intended_ to.

"Come on Tony, we are going to have a fun day. It is a lovely day out, not bitey or anything!" Another pause.

"I think you mean _nippy_, Ziva."

Have I mentioned that I _hate_ English?

* * *

It was about one when Tony and I arrived at the mall. He had punished me in the car, making me listen to his awful music. I had begged for relief, but alas. Next time, I was bringing my iPod and hijacking the system. No more Sinatra for me. Hell, no more _English_. A little Hebrew rock would do him some good. Or French rap. Yes, actually, I would _verily_ enjoy making him listen to French rap.

As I plotted revenge Tony was already out of the car and heading to the massive building. I find the huge buildings rather disconcerting; only in America did they need such megaplexes. Although admittedly it was convenient to be able to get everything you needed from one place, I would grant them them.

"Ziva, come on!" Tony urged. I followed dazedly behind, ignoring the pain in my head. It would go away sooner or later. Probably.

"I am coming, Tony." He was walking fast today. Why did he have to walk fast today? I was too tired to keep up with him today. It was not fair.

"Hurry up!" I nearly tripped but finally we were entering the store, me on his side. I breathed a sigh of relief before promptly looking at the selection of toys and feeling overwhelmed. American children were spoiled. Clearly there was no reason to be here.

"I want to go now," I said even as I followed Tony deeper into the maze. He sighed and ruffled my hair.

"Aw, we're going to have fun though, Zee-vah! Didn't you say so yourself?" He was treading on my patience, but I reined in my temper. I had agreed to come, and I would have to deal with that.

"What sorts of things does she like?" I asked as we wandered into pink aisles. Tony furrowed his brow and frowned.

"Pink things?"

"That's not very helpful," I scolded him. He shrugged, not having the good sense to look ashamed or at least chastised.

"Sorry."

"You need to do better than that. Does she dance? Does she ride horses?" Those had been the thing Tali and I liked when we were young. Tali wanted to be a ballerina. I wanted a pony.

"Yeah! Hey, yeah, she does ballet!" He said excited. His eyes were light and he was grinning, like –

Like a kid in a toy store.

"So we can get her something dancing-related then, yes?" I said, watching as his eyes began to eagerly scan the surrounding shelves.

"Yes! Yes we can indeed. Ziva, you are a lifesaver!" he declared. I might have felt happier about the whole thing had my headache not seemed to be getting worse. The light and the noise were bad. I wished I could sit down and sleep for a while, or at the very least that Tony would stop bouncing about so distractingly. God, it was enough to induce nausea. Which didn't make me very happy; I had had to contend with that enough last night, thank you.

Oh, well. At least I _had _helped. Maybe we could go out and get lunch or something after this. Coffee sounded very nice right now; I could use the caffeine. Hopefully Tony would pick _something_ quickly and we could go. Besides, this was bringing back too many bad memories. Memories of Tali and myself, younger and more innocent. Before everything was so hard and bad. . .

"Ziva which one should I get? Ballet Dancerella Barbie or Swan Lake Barbie or Princess Dancing Barbie?" He attempted to balance the third option on his head as he held the other two, but it did not work terribly well and it fell off, crashing to the ground loudly. A few people turned to look at us and I felt the creeping heat of a blush spreading across my face.

"Whichever one is it you just dropped!" I hissed, going over to retrieve it. Swan Lake Barbie. Hooray. A decision at last. Maybe I should not have come with him. God, I was so tired. Why did it seem like I could never drink enough to totally stop the nightmares? Why were there not any pills to soothe my unravelling mind? I needed to be able to work and focus, and it was so very hard right now . . .

"You okay?" Tony was looking at me with concern in his eyes, the other dolls having been put away. I offered him a smile.

"Of course."

"You look a little pale." Oh, so now that he had _dragged _me from my nice warm bed he was concerned about my wellbeing? How nice!

"I was out late," I said lamely. I handed him the doll and a huge grin spread across his face. I had the bad feeling I had just said exactly the wrong thing.

"Ooh, someone got some but it wasn't so good!" he teased, cackling as he headed towards the cashier. I rolled my eyes.

"How old are you?"

"Hey, we're all adults here."

"I can only vouch for myself," I sniffed. He laughed again to himself.

"Gotta say you don't exactly have that freshly-fucked glow. Must have been really bad," he mused almost sympathetically.

"Trust me, this is worse."

"Am I really _such _bad company?" he asked, giving me a sad look through his long eyelashes.

"Yes."

"You're a hard woman, Miss David," he said, shaking his head and flashing a smile at the cashier as we came into line. The girl smiled back brightly.

"Aw, is this for your little girl? She must be so excited waiting for Mommy and Daddy to come back! Or does she know?" she asked, eyes bright with genuine curiosity. Tony looked at her in confusion, then suddenly started laughing. A beat later I understood too and felt myself flushing.

"He is not – I mean, I am not – we are not married," I said somewhat lamely as Tony handed her a twenty, chuckling darkly. The girl nodded.

"Oh, I totally understand. Lots of people I know are doing that these days. I mean, a marriage license isn't a license to have kids, right?" she said with the same cheeriness. I could have groaned. Was she just not very bright?

"We do not have children either. We are not – together." Ah, there was the word I was looking for!

"Wow. Could have fooled me," she said, handing a bag off to Tony. He grinned and I rolled my eyes.

"Can we go now?"

"Aw, you don't think we'd make a cute couple, Zee-vah?" he asked, slinging an arm around my shoulder. God, did he know how he tempted my patience, my will? Some days I came very close to hating Gibbs for rule twelve.

"Get off of me, Tony." I needed to take control of my life again. No more sleepless nights, no more nightmares, no more hangovers and being guard off guard wanting Tony.

"Whatever. You are my saving grace, Glorianna!" he said cheerily. He still hadn't removed his arm.

"Eh?"

"It's what they called Elizabeth I. Of England. Glorianna. It's like, 'glory' in Latin or something," he explained. I sighed. I didn't exactly _feel_ glorious. I felt like a mess. "Want to get lunch? I'm _starving_."

I cannot say definitively that that is when it started, but it seems as good a point as I can come to. I carved control, and I carved validation. I did not take Tony up on his offer. I did not want to eat.


	3. II: The Devil You Know

_II: The Devil You Know _

"_This is the Hour of Lead - Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons recollect the Snow - First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go"_

_Emily Dickinson_

* * *

_Present Day: _

I awoke to the crescendo of machines.

Wave after wave hit me but just as soon I was down again, getting caught in the undertow. The cacophony was so loud, hurting me. I could not see, could not think. Only listen. Only feel.

I slipped in black as black ever was.

Black.

Blurry.

My only memory:

_When I wake up, I want it white. I want to erase everything._

Be careful what you wish for.

* * *

Gasping. A thousand pinpricks of pure lightening running through my body. I open my mouth, sure I will scream, but nothing comes out. Someone is standing over me, wearing blue scrubs and holding a defibrillator. A look of exaltation bordering on disbelief.

"_She's alive!"_ The joy in the statement stuns me. Of course I am alive. Should I not be? Why . . . ?

I cannot breathe. The world is dizzy and blackish and people are screaming. Tony. I need Tony. My Tony . . .

"You gotta stay with us, honey. Just hang in there," A nurse is looming over me, her eyes huge. Make me dizzier.

"Uhhh," I groan. She smoothes my hair back from my face and I wish for other hands, warmer and not so sweaty. _Tony . . . _

"Come on, honey, just look at me. We're going to get there. You're gonna be just fine. Come on, sweetie, you gotta keep looking at me," she says urgently. I start to cry.

"It _hurts!"_ I scream. I am too hot and too cold, too deep in this well to claw my way out. I cannot, I cannot. My heart hurts so badly is screaming so fast I think it will fly from my chest. The world spins into black and takes me with it. The people are crying out, begging me to stay, but I cannot. There is something wonderful and white and warm waiting for me if I close my eyes, so close my eyes I will.

Black is as black is black.

* * *

_Six months earlier. _

I curled up on my side, trying fruitlessly to sleep. It was a difficult and useless task. My body would not leave me alone, would not allow me the sleep I needed so much. The innocent sleep, sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care, the death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, balm of hurt mind, great nature's second course, chief nourisher in life's feast. Macbeth, act two scene two lines forty-eight to fifty-two. A good summary for my life. I wanted to sleep.

My twitching fingers reached for the cell phone. Call Tony. Call anyone. Surely I had friends in other countries I could call and talk to now, something of a distraction. No more hearing screaming people, no more seeing blood everywhere. No more Tali. No more Jenny. No more bad memories to kill me so slow . . .

I dialled Tony anyway. The phone rang and I gripped it hard. The afternoon had been pleasant, spending time with him. We really had grown closer over the past couple of years. It was nice. I sighed and hung up the phone. I could not bring myself to bother him at this hour. He needed his sleep too. I considered going through my stores for something to drink, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. I could ill afford to be hungover _and _sleepdeprived on the job.

Why could I not sleep?

When would I finally sleep?

I wanted to scream I was so angry. The exhaustion was getting to me and I almost started crying. I knew deep inside it was the nightmares, that part of me was not _allowing_ myself to sleep because it feared the return of the nightmares. God, I could remember it now, all the dust and fire and everything blown away. . . .

When would I sleep?

When would I _finally _sleep?

I had had enough. I threw off my covers and half-wild dragged myself out to the car. Shakily I climbed in and began driving. I gripped the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned a painful shade of white, the skin taut. No matter. Had to find a CVS. Needed sleeping pills NOW.

It was three in the morning when I stumbled in, likely resembling some drunk woman. The man behind the counter took one look at me and then quickly turned away, embarrassed I think. I made my way to the back of the store and took several boxes of sleeping pills. I would figure out which one was the most useful later.

"You want all of this?" the cashier asked, looking over my finds sceptically.

"Please." It was pathetic, really, the way I was ready to beg him. He packaged them slowly, eyeing me all the while.

"Remember, don't take these until you get off, can't have you falling asleep on the road. And don't take them all at once. Or too many. Here's a number I want you to call, you can use my cell phone if you want," he said, pushing a piece of paper towards me. I glanced at it and barked a laugh.

"You think I am suicidal?" I asked. He shrugged and nervously ran his fingers through his hair.

"Look, my sister went through some pretty hard times a little while ago and someone stepped up for her, and I'm sure glad about it. Now, I don't know your story and I don't have any right to go about assuming things, but I'm just saying that that's an awful lot of pills for an awful skinny woman and I don't want nothing bad to come to you. There's someone I'm sure who loves you very much and don't want anything to happen to you, I'm sure. Is there maybe someone I could call for you? You can use my phone for as long as you need, I don't mind, heck I hardly use the thing! You can even talk to me, if you want. I can't promise I'll understand everything but I'll try real hard and I don't judge anything, alright?" he asked, concern painting his features.

It was quite touching, really. Part of me wanted to break down and start crying. This sleep deprivation was killing me. All I wanted to do was get home to my bed and curl up, away from the world. I had to get up in a few hours for work anything, a few very short hours. I shook my head.

"I am fine. Thank you," I said. He reluctantly gave me the bag and I felt his eyes on me as I walked out.

"Remember that number!" he called. I nodded, but I did not turn around and I am not sure he knew. I drove home on silent, empty roads and when I arrived I took pill after pill after pill until the box said to stop.

I do not remember even making it to my bed before everything goes beautifully black.

* * *

I awoke on my kitchen floor to the sound of the alarm in my bedroom. It was still dark, only the faintest bit of light beginning to come through. I wanted to curl up and go back to sleeping, but I knew that that was not an option. Gibbs had work for me to do, and they depended upon me. I could not let them down. Failure was not an option.

I crawled to the bedroom and with shaking hand turned off damnable alarm. I slowly pulled myself up, leaning heavily on the bed. Slowly, consciousness was returning to me. Slowly, I was coming together. I yawned and picked out some clothes to run in, my mind half away as I tried to decided which playlist I wanted to listen to this morning. I had really come to enjoy running more since Abby had given me to the iPod, it just made the experience so much richer. It was wonderfully mindless, allowing me to mentally wander in any direction I pleased.

I took off down the streets just as the sun was coming up. It was pleasant outside, a hint of spring colouring the air. I took deep, greedy breaths and slapped myself every time I felt tired or wilting. Neither the time nor the place for that. I had to keep going, had to get to work and do my job and take care of the world since nobody else planned on doing anything. Our team worked like a well-oiled machine, and we complimented each other well. So well that without one of us the whole dynamic was off and things did not run efficiently if they even ran at all.

I passed the halfway point in my run and tried to push myself. _The hardest part is out of the way, just keep going. Do not stop. You fear fat more than you love rest._

Huh?

I almost stopped as I realized my thoughts. What was _wrong_ with me? I had not thought like that since . . . since Tali died. Those were teenage thoughts, inappropriate for a grown woman. I had fought that battle, conquered my hatred of eating, my fear of food and desperate need for my father to notice me in the wake of everything smelling like death. I had recovered from my eating disorder. I knew so much better now.

And yet . . .

I could feel it on my skin, feeling the devil trembling in her cage with anticipation, eager to starve and deprive me again. I winced. I would have to make an appointment with a psychiatrist then. I could not have this, could not allow my thoughts to stop being my own, could not give control back to _her_.

But when I took my shower that morning I did not look myself in the mirror, and instead of a real breakfast I opted for strawberries, barely contained any calories. I told myself it was because I was trying to eat less junk food because I knew how bad it was for you. In truth, it was starting again, much I as tried to deny it to myself.

The monster was back.


	4. III: Wind Slapped

_III: Wind-Slapped

* * *

_

_Is it still me that makes you sweat,_

_Am I who you think about in bed?_

_When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking _

_As you're sliding off you dress?_

_Then think of what you did_

_And how I hope to G-d he was worth it_

_(when the lights are dim and your heart_

_is racing as you fingers touch his skin. . . .)_

_I've got more wit, a better kiss_

_A hotter touch, a better fuck_

_Then any boy you'll ever meet_

_Sweetie you had **me**_

_~ "Lying is the Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off"_

_ by Panic at the Disco

* * *

_

Freedom is a strange thing.

It dances on the tip of the tongue, on the spaces of the mind, tucking a smile and wanting to slip under your skin but too allusive to do such a thing. Freedom must be earned; freedom will not be given simply because you want it. If you are lucky enough to always know freedom, for the sake of all good things please cherish it.

Freedom is like water.

Precious.

Necessary.

Slipping so easily through the fingers.

* * *

I stumbled into the office and blinked away the mantle of confusion and sleep. There are those who say that the disproportionate incidence of eating disorders in Jewish women is because of need to relive the events of the Holocaust in the modern age. They perhaps fail to note the equally disproportionate number of Jews in the upper-class and the heightened incidence of eating disorders in upper-class women.

But I digress.

Tony smiled at me as I shakily sat down, using every ounce of self-control not to show how I shook. That is always that way it is in the beginning. You bound with energy, thrilled by the high of watching your spinning body rely on so little. You want to dance, to show them that you're fine, fine, fine that way you're light of air, just a breath. You are like a tree, feeding strong from sunlight and soil, your root deep and buried in the cool cool earth. At the same time you are delicate and precious as a flower, and they should marvel at your fragrant, passing beauty, appreciate you even more because aren't you so very very breakable then?

I brushed my hair back from my shoulders and turned my focus to the computer screen. Enough with vanity. I had more important things to do than moon over boys like a high school girl. Not that I'd spent much time mooning. You don't have that luxury in a war. I was fifteen when I lost my virginity in a weapons carrier. It's so perfect – destruction and creation right next to each other, his fingers and a bayonet both tangled in my hair. When my father asked me why I'd done it, I returned that did he really believe that the Palestinian guards were usually so careless in their surveillance, and did he or did he not want to know where Israeli prisoners were being kept? I don't know if he realized that I lost my virginity that time. I don't know that he would have even cared.

And when I made love to Michael for the first time all those months later, when he entered me I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and didn't know why for the longest time, except to venture that maybe I couldn't stand for him to see me like that, broken like spat out food, a bag for bones. I did not think he could love me. No one loved me. And didn't I prove it with the badges of my protruding ribs, with the broken blue nails and jutting hipbones and dull, limp hair that broke when he pushed it out of my face? He smelled like fresh coffee. . . .

"Ziva?" Abby's clear voice broke my thoughts and I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. _Focus_. "You in there?"

"I am here, Abby," I replied. "Did you want something?"

"Kinda." A streak of discomfort flashed across her face, piquing my curiosity.

"I am pretty sure it is a yes or no question," I almost immediately regretting the words. _Don't be such a bitch, Ziva, this is why you don't have friends. Must I do everything around here? You're like a little child: Careless. _

"Well, you see I got these passes or tickets things, I don't really know what you would call them, for this spa that's opening in Georgetown, because my friend Drake who's totally cool has these coupons left over from when he worked there but now he's moving because his girlfriend is going to France for this job – he's going to propose to her in the airport! It's going to be so awesome, I helped him pick out the ring. I hope she likes it. It's a white diamond, which I thought would be nice because it matches so much, right, but I don't know it could be a little boring oh God I hope he doesn't not get her because of me because that would just be so awful and –"

"Abby, the tickets?"

"Right! So the next opening they have isn't for like three months, but I booked a day at the spa and it's a free all access pass for me and friend, so I thought you might be my friend!" she said with cheery aplomb. I smiled at her.

"That sounds nice. I would enjoy that." Three months distance – there was no reason I couldn't lose thirty pounds in that time. A day at the spa was an apt reward. Now that was the sort of nourishment I needed. Not food. I didn't need food. I was stronger than any supposed physical force. I could reach out of myself and grab whatever I needed to get going, to keep on. Food was just a creation of the mind. I only needed hum of my mind to know that doing fine, and it was all overrated. And maybe if I drifted long enough on that dreaming high of nothing I could crash at last into a velvet darkness where there was no more screaming.

* * *

The nightmare goes on and on.

Always the screaming.

Always the faces.

I can feel my body grow hot and slick with the blood of others and I see and feel him on me. Half-cradled and half-choked, the bite of my lips has an edge and I don't know if he's going to bite my tongue right out. He might rape me. He might kill. He might make love to me until I'm raw and bleeding. And I can Hit. Every. Spot. But it doesm't matter because he'll drain me until there's nothing left, the vampire. And the only time he's left me alone in the last six months is when I fell asleep at Tony's house and woke up in his arms. . . .

I'm so tired.

I need my life back.

I need the dark.


End file.
